


Contingency Plans: Mission

by hypatia



Series: The Incredibly True Adventures of 2 Hackers in Love [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Leverage
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explosions, Gen, Guns, He's Just Not That Into You, Mission Fic, Veteran!Q, fake suicide, questions of loyalty, rogue!Q, sorry james
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22095787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypatia/pseuds/hypatia
Summary: "Surely they've told you that we agents are expendable.""I've heard that. And yet, it's in my job description to keep your arse intact.”“In so many words? I’d like to see that.”“Don’t get cute. Turn right into that alley. At the next block, cross the road and go left. Except for rare occurrences, for example when actual WMDs are in play, the value of an experienced 00 agent to Her Majesty's government outweighs the value of any individual mission objective. Frequently by an order of magnitude. And in case you're expecting me to make a joke about your age, an agent who survives field work long enough to retire from it is an even greater asset as a trainer and mentor to future operatives.""Q." said Bond as he ran. "Did you run a cost-benefit analysis on my life?""Right at the next street, the 2nd door in has an electronic lock, it will be open when you reach it. Certainly not, I delegated the task to R."
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Q (James Bond), James Bond & Q
Series: The Incredibly True Adventures of 2 Hackers in Love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568371
Comments: 8
Kudos: 125





	Contingency Plans: Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Zandraeliox](/users/Zandraeliox/) for the beta!
> 
> This takes place in late winter or early spring 2015. (SPECTRE? What's that.)
> 
> Much more MI6 than Leverage in this one. Hardison has a cameo at the end.

"Do you think, Commander Bond, that you could go more than 90 days without causing an international incident?" Mallory asked dryly.

"It was simply my intention to keep the ambassador from being assassinated. A risk, which I will note, was not identified in my initial mission brief."

“You are aware, are you not, that your missions are intended to remain _secret_? That we are a _clandestine_ organization? That you are supposedly a _covert_ operative? Perhaps you could check the definitions of these terms before embarking on your next mission?”

“I’ll endeavor to do so sir,” said Bond maintaining a scrupulous parade rest.

"And while we’re on the topic. Why is it Bond, that your missions are inevitably the ones where circumstances not identified in the initial mission brief, sometimes straining the bounds of credulity, tend to arise?"

"Perhaps I'm more thorough sir?"

Mallory made a face and waved a hand in dismissal. "That will be all. I'll need your full report by tomorrow morning."

\- 10 minutes later -

Bond surveyed the crowded canteen with annoyance. Every table was occupied and he wasn't feeling particularly social. Thanks to Mallory's dressing down, he was trying to get a meal at the busiest time of the day and couldn't leave to get better food and still make it to medical in time for his post-mission check.

He spotted Q seated alone at a table for four and headed that way. "Mind if I join you?"

Q waved at the empty seats in a vaguely welcoming gesture. "Go ahead. I'm apparently terrifying. They all seem to think I'll ruin their credit or some such if they make eye contact with me. Your presence will likely only enhance the effect."

“Q. Objectively speaking, you are terrifying.”

Q tilted his head in agreement, smiling faintly. “The burden of being one of the three most dangerous people in Europe.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “Who are the other two?” he asked.

“Classified.” said Q smiling a bit more broadly. He cocked his head at Bond thoughtfully for a moment, "Perhaps your presence won’t completely deter everyone desperate for a seat. There's probably a few around who still want you to seduce them rather than fearing you'll rip their arms off and slap them with the soggy end."

Bond blinked at the quartermaster in bemusement. This last phrase was delivered in a very different accent than he usually spoke with. In fact, it had sounded exactly like Q was imitating a drill instructor. Bond's had certainly made similar threats a time or two.

Bond looked at Q with focused calculation. "And what did your drill instructor call a nuclear weapon?" he asked.

Q looked over the rims of his glasses and gave Bond a sharper smile. In the same accent he'd used a moment before he said, "That would be a bucket of instant sunshine, Commander Bond." He brushed hair out of his face and returned to eating.

"And what branch did you say you'd served in?" asked Bond.

"I didn't." said Q, back to his usual even tone. Bond raised his eyebrows in question and looked at Q expectantly. He suspected Q wouldn’t have revealed what he did if he weren’t willing to continue the conversation to its logical end. Q looked down at his meal for a moment and went very still. Then he took a breath as if preparing for something unpleasant and met Bond's eyes. "RAF." he said, very quietly.

Now it was Bond's turn to look down for a breath while he considered under what circumstances a Royal Air Force veteran might refuse to ever fly again.

"Stop that and eat your lunch 007." said Q, giving Bond a look that said he knew exactly what Bond was thinking.

Bond decided he wasn't going to pry. Or at least, not in the middle of a crowded canteen. He asked a more neutral question instead. "Where did you serve?"

"Eventually, Afghanistan. I joined in early 2001 after I finished university. It's not likely to surprise you that I worked in Intelligence…" Bond nodded.

Then Q cocked his head and held up a hand. "Sorry." he said to Bond. "R, please go ahead... 006 is?... well that's certainly a novel approach... Right. Because he couldn't bloody well wait until I'd finished the single bloody meal that I'm likely to get today... Yes. Patch me in, I'm on my way....... 006, what an unpleasant surprise… yes, yes… _potselui mou zhopy_. *"

* _Russian_ : Kiss my ass

Q stood, waving a hand at Bond as if to say _you know what Trevelyan is like_. Bond gave an exaggerated shrug in return.

When Q started to pick up his tray, Bond waved him off. "I'll take care of that. You go babysit Alec."

Q smiled his thanks, then snorted and pointed to his ear. "He heard you," he mouthed smirking. He grabbed the remains of his sandwich and hurried away.

Bond watched him leave, noting that he seemed to favor his left side as he walked. It was subtle, not quite a limp. He didn’t recall noticing it before so perhaps it was a recent injury, or he'd just not paid attention.

\- A few weeks later -

"That was exceptionally foolhardy. Are you attempting to get yourself killed 007?" Q watched Bond’s progress through the narrow streets via the GPS on his mobile and occasional security cameras as Bond ran from his pursuers.

"Not particularly. But the mission objective is accomplished, so my survival just became less vital."

"That's not actually how it works Bond. A successful mission requires agent survival."

"It isn't? Surely they've told you that we agents are expendable."

"I've heard that. And yet, it's in _my_ job description to keep your arse intact.”

“In so many words? I’d like to see that.”

“Don’t get cute. Turn right into that alley. At the next block, cross the road and go left. Except for rare occurrences, for example when actual WMDs are in play, the value of an experienced 00 agent to Her Majesty's government outweighs the value of any individual mission objective. Frequently by an order of magnitude. And in case you're expecting me to make a joke about your age, an agent who survives field work long enough to retire from it is an even greater asset as a trainer and mentor to future operatives."

"Q." said Bond as he ran. "Did you run a cost-benefit analysis on my life?"

"Right at the next street, the 2nd door in has an electronic lock, it will be open when you reach it. Certainly not, I delegated the task to R."

"In."

"Stairs to your left, go down."

"I'd prefer not to be trapped in a basement Q."

"Oh ye of little faith. There's a tunnel that leads to a building across the street. It's owned by the same business entity, so I assume it won't be blocked off."

"I see it."

"Your pursuers think you ducked into one of the shops and are conducting a search. With luck, you should be able to leave by the rear of the building you're headed for and lose them. If _they're_ lucky, they'll find themselves a nice postcard to send to their mum or perhaps a lovely frock."

138 seconds of radio silence followed.

"Clear."

"Excellent. Proceed to the rendezvous point, north west from your current location. On foot, your ETA is approximately 8 minutes from now."

"Roger that. And Q?"

"Yes 007?"

"Thank you."

"Of course."

\- 2 days later -

"I'm impressed Bond. You're actually returning all your equipment more or less intact. To what do we owe this momentous occasion? Should we be anticipating porcine levitation? Underworld denizens complaining of hypothermia?"

Bond stepped closer, "I thought it might improve your mood, and that you'd then, perhaps, be more amenable to an invitation to dinner tonight."

Q raised an eyebrow and made a subtle shooing gesture at Bond who stepped back again. "No, 007. Simply returning your equipment, _as you are expected to do_ , is not sufficient inducement." he rolled his eyes "And if it were, I might be dining with 006 who returned his equipment intact earlier today."

"Are we that interchangeable to... Wait. Since when does Alec return his equipment?"

"Since he returned a box of shrapnel instead of the vehicle R had signed out to him and she threatened to shoot him with the prototype tranquilizer gun she was holding, then tattoo a pink unicorn on his chest while he was unconscious." Q had barely smiled, but his eyes betrayed his amusement.

"Yes, that would do it."

"And no, wasn’t I clear earlier?" Q dropped the bantering tone, sounding firm, or even perhaps a bit angry. " _None_ of you are interchangeable, replaceable, or disposable. I probably know that better than anyone."

Bond stopped momentarily in surprise, then he pressed on, "Come on Q, dinner. We get along. You're clever and interesting to talk to. I can pretend to be clever and interesting to talk to. What's the harm?"

Q picked up a pen from his desktop and started idly fidgeting with it, drawing Bond's eye. "Has it occurred to you that I've simply determined the optimal level of banter required for you to work most effectively and have been callously manipulating you?"

"It actually had," smirked Bond. "I decided that would be incredibly attractive."

Q rolled his eyes. "Impossible man. I suppose it's better than 006 who is most effective if I'm swearing at him in Russian. Until that stops working and we have to switch to Pashto."

"And the rest of the 00s?"

Q thought for a moment. "002 and 008 just want a no-nonsense guide and I make no individual modifications for either of them. 003 seems to think I'm a moderately intelligent AI and treats me accordingly. I have not endeavored to convince her otherwise. 004 would prefer to never speak to me at all and she and I keep comms to the absolute minimum. For 005, I track several sports teams' scores, statistics, and gossip. I avoid him completely during the Olympics when he is _insufferable_. And 009, lord help me, is at his best when he’s spoken to like he's a boy with an overly discipline-minded schoolmaster."

Bond had started chuckling early in this recitation and by the end had turned red and had was biting his lip to keep from laughing too loudly in the quiet workspace.

Q brought his pen closer to his body and slowed his fidgeting. "All that said, I'm not going to have dinner with you."

Bond sobered and held Q's gaze for a moment. "So that's it then."

Q's pen froze. "That's it then." said Q, his eyes flicking down to the tip of the pen and back to Bond.

Bond considered the pen for a moment and realized Q was using it to point behind his own shoulder, to the security camera positioned there.

Q went back to twirling the pen absently while deliberately holding eye contact with Bond. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have a lot to do if I'm going to catch the Tube at 1820."

"Of course, I'll… let you get back to it." said Bond and left Q branch deep in thought.

~

At 1817, Bond was standing on the platform toward the back of the small crowd of people waiting for the next train and looking for his quartermaster. He was mildly embarrassed when he eventually recognized Q as the young man in an old, slightly frayed black hoodie and leather jacket who he'd overlooked twice.

Q had removed his glasses and was wearing faded black jeans, worn black boots that laced up his ankles, (steel-toed unless Bond missed his guess) and a black knit hat that covered his hair. Rather than the smart messenger bag Bond had seen countless times at Q’s desk, he carried a battered backpack and what looked like a bag of takeaway.

Q met Bond's eye for a moment, expression unreadable, then turned toward the train as it pulled up. Bond kept his distance but followed. Q ignored everyone on the train in favor of something on his mobile.

Eventually, Q got off the train and walked a few blocks from the station into and through an unexpectedly industrial neighborhood. Once again, Bond noted that Q favored his left leg, not quite a limp. It had been weeks since he'd last noticed, by which time a recent injury should have healed.

Q pulled a set of keys out of a pocket in his backpack and unlocked the door to a warehouse whose faded sign labeled it "Callahan's". After looking around for a moment, Bond followed.

"Bond."

"Q. What is this place?"

"There's a rave tonight."

“A what?”

“A rave. You know, everyone’s favorite excuse to dance and take methylene-dioxy-methamphetamine?”

“Methyl which?”

“Ecstasy,” said Q patiently.

Bond's eyes had started to adjust to the gloom inside the large space and he could see lights hung from the ceiling and on black pipes affixed to the walls. Tall stacks of speakers stood along one wall on a raised platform. Stage? "And you're here because?"

"I'm the sound guy. And sometime DJ when no one else is available, like tonight." Q gave a lopsided smile and gestured around. "A friend owns it. I did most of the wiring when he was getting started." Q unlocked a panel and flipped some switches bringing up lights. "The rest of the staff won't be here for another half hour. Let me give you the tour."

"Lead on." said Bond. He was slightly baffled and in the process of reevaluating most of what he thought he knew about the head of Q-branch. If you'd asked him about Q's probable taste in music, he'd have guessed an esoteric form of jazz or something similarly… intellectual. Staid. 'Sound guy for the Thursday night rave' was a bit of a shock.

He supposed he'd made a similar reevaluation several weeks ago when he learned Q had served in the RAF. Clearly, he knew very little about this man, and what guesses he’d had were unusually far off the mark.

Q made his way to a corner of the large space to a circular staircase enclosed in a chain link cage. He unlocked the gate and started up. A door at the top of the stairs, with a much more serious looking electronic lock, led into a room with large windows overlooking the venue - the sound booth.

Q waved Bond into the booth, then closed the door and opened a small panel. He held his hand inside for a moment and Bond felt a change in the room. Air pressure? It reminded him of... "Secure room?"

"This room," said Q as he hung his backpack and jacket on a hook and took a styrofoam container out of the takeaway bag. "Is more secure than Mallory's office." The back of his hoodie bore a faded symbol, a star and the outline of a face and neck in three-quarter profile.

"Why are we here Q?"

"You followed me." Q turned and leaned against the counter. Bond noted that he'd put all his weight on his right leg.

"You wanted me to." he said, and Q nodded. "I'd been hoping that you just wanted to accept my dinner invitation more discreetly, but that doesn't seem to be the case."

"No, I'm afraid I'm still not interested in dinner with you, nor in the implied invitation to breakfast several hours later." Q looked serious and Bond thought he saw that same flash of anger he'd noticed earlier. "Have you noticed that the intel for your last few missions has been... poorer quality than it ought to be?”

"I have. I was hoping there was a new analyst being broken in and things would improve, but other agents haven’t mentioned similar issues."

"But they haven't improved." it wasn't a question.

"No." Bond watched Q for a moment realizing this wasn't a _hint_ of anger. Q was furious about something. "You know why," he said.

"Yes. I need you to listen to something." Q pulled out his mobile and tapped a few times.

 _I'm sorry sir,_ Bond heard Q's posh voice say out of the speaker, _I'm afraid I need you to repeat that._

 _You heard me Q._ said Mallory’s voice.

 _All right then. Because this is not the sort of thing that allows_ any _margin for misunderstanding, I will repeat what I heard. You are ordering me to engineer an equipment failure that will kill an agent._ Q said in the same even tone he used when ordering Bond to blow up a building or turning him down for a dinner date.

_Correct. I leave the details to your discretion._

_Will you tell me why?_

_No._

Bond stared at the device. He suspected that he knew what he was about to hear.

 _And after that, how exactly do I persuade the rest of the 00s to ever trust a piece of equipment I give them ever again?_ asked Q as if he were asking if Mallory thought it might rain.

Bond tried to decide if Q’s unemotional tone bothered or impressed him.

_Make it look like he made a mistake perhaps._

_Excuse me?_ Q's tone finally changed to... gentle incredulity, _make it look like James Bond made a mistake with his equipment? They're a suspicious lot. It's their job. They may not buy that._

_That isn't your problem quartermaster._

_I see... Will that be all?_

_Yes. Thank you._

Q tapped the small screen again to turn off the app. He looked at Bond who had frozen in place. "Before you say anything Bond..." Q said quietly, "Yes. I could _absolutely_ fake that. There’s no way you could tell. I need you to believe that I did not."

"I've trusted you with my life for years Q," said Bond. "I'm unlikely to stop now." He looked around the sound booth again. "More secure than M's office you say?"

Q tilted his head to the side and looked Bond in the eye. "M's office is exactly as secure as I decide it is." he said.

 _And there it was,_ thought Bond _, the quiet reminder of Q's boast from their first meeting. Just how much damage_ could _this man do with his laptop in one morning?_

"Mallory's predecessor would never have given me that order." Q continued.

Bond snorted in disbelief.

"Believe me. _I know bloody well_ she'd have given the order to kill an agent if she saw the need. I'm saying she knew better than to give _me_ that order." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "You should see the contingency plans that they have should I ever decide to go rogue. It's rather flattering. I’m apparently a threat equivalent to a rogue state with a verified cache of weapons of mass destruction."

Bond looked up sharply at the abrupt change of subject. And belatedly came to the chilling realization that it wasn't a change of subject at all. "Q..." He was too shocked right now and he wasn't focusing properly. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to give you the equipment I've been ordered to,” he said evenly. “But everyone knows I have no control over how you use it."

"All right quartermaster," said Bond, retreating to a question he'd asked Q dozens of times, when getting new equipment, when circumstances changed mid-mission, when his life was hanging by a thread and he trusted that the voice in his ear could save him, "What do I need to know?"

And Q... briefed him. As if this were a normal mission. As if they weren’t standing in the sound booth of a seedy dance club Bond hadn’t known existed twelve minutes ago. As if Q hadn’t just pulled a rug out from under Bond.

"The mission is related to a weapons smuggler. A new player who hopes to gain favor with an Eastern European arms dealer has acquired what he believes to be a biological weapon. He will sell it to the dealer's cartel in expectation of opportunities for future contracts.

"Your mission will purport to be stopping the sale and acquiring or destroying the weapon. Which, by the way, is actually a harmless chemical provided to the smuggler by an undercover MI6 operative and an excuse to give you an explosive device.

"You'll receive a new watch. In addition to vital signs tracking similar to the one you have now, it will include a small explosive device with timer that can be set to a length of time between 1 and 60 seconds.

"The charge is suitable for disabling a large vehicle or even a small tank if properly placed. Lethal in a one-meter radius, serious to critical injury in a two-meter radius. Overkill for the mission and not the spec I’ll provide you with on the day. Your Walther will be altered so that the 7th bullet you fire will trigger the watch to detonate."

"7th bullet fired, or 7th bullet out of a given clip?" asked Bond, seeing an obvious loophole.

Q smiled approvingly. "7th bullet _fired_ I'm afraid. Changing clips won't change the count.

"Tonight, the cover story is you didn't want to take no for an answer as regards dinner and got it into your head to stalk me after work. When you approached me again, I told you to go to hell. Tomorrow morning, around 0900, you've thought it through and apologize. No harm done. We all know how agents can be after a mission. I will have to tell Mallory about you following me. If I don't, it looks _more_ suspicious. I apologize in advance for the reprimand it might get you, but that will be irrelevant shortly. Clear so far?"

Bond rolled his eyes but didn't argue and nodded.

"Assuming you survive, and I've no reason to think you won't, you must not return to MI6. I can cover your back once. The next attempt on your life will likely be something I don't control. I can help you cover your tracks initially, say for the first 3-6 hours, should you wish to disappear. Which I would encourage you to do.

“If you want my assistance, take this number," Q opened a drawer and pointed to a slip of paper. "and text the phrase HMS Temeraire.” Bond took the paper. He didn’t immediately recognize the country code. “I'll do what I can. And honestly,” he paused, “I would appreciate knowing I didn’t _actually_ kill you. Don't expect a reply. I do not have that device in my possession. I've never touched it in fact, but someone will relay a message to me.

"I expect there’s nothing I can say to keep you from telling 006 you’re alive. However, you must not tell him I had anything to do with this.”

"What about you, Q?" Bond could take orders like a good soldier, but he saw the larger implications of Q's actions.

"What about me?"

"You’re putting yourself at risk here too. Do you have someone who will cover your tracks? Text HMS Victory to this number?"

Q snorted. "Lusitania would be more appropriate should the occasion arise."

"Bring the Americans into a war?" at Q's head shake he continued "Doomed to sink? or would that be Titanic?"

"Not Titanic.” Bond was unprepared when Q's smile turned feral and his tone disdainful. “When I go down, it will not be due to my own _incompetence_."

" _When_ you go down?"

"I suspected, when I took this job, that while my morals are... somewhat flexible or I wouldn't be able to do what I do … I would eventually receive an order that I would not obey. And I have... prepared for that. I recognized early on there aren't many scenarios in which I leave Six alive. They seem to fear I’d inevitably become some sort of… comic book super villain. Possibly out of sheer boredom." He rolled his eyes.

"Does your plan explain your glib response about agents trusting the equipment?" It had stung, that response… so at odds with ‘you are not interchangeable, replaceable, or disposable’ spoken so fiercely just hours ago.

"Of course. If I suspected I was going to receive that order, I had to prepare a response. Practically everyone _thinks_ I'm a cold, arrogant bastard, so I went with affronted professional pride." he paused, the feral grin returning. "Did it sound honest? I've rehearsed it in my head nearly every time I've ever been called to Mallory's office unexpectedly."

Bond shrugged. "It sounded like the tone you use for everything from thanking your minions for fresh tea to ordering me to blow up a building... So... you have a plan for you?"

"That's not your concern Bond. Please just trust me to keep you alive through one last mission. Now, you need to leave. You've already been here a bit longer than we can justify."

"I wish you'd just taken me up on dinner." said Bond ruefully.

Q gestured toward his meal. "I'll share some of my chips. They're probably nicely cold and soggy by now."

Bond stepped closer to Q, looking for some spark of interest. "I suppose I'll take what I can get."

Q stood his ground, watching Bond impassively. There was nothing, and so Bond changed his trajectory, snagged a chip from the container, and stepped back. Q went to the door, touched the panel again, then unlocked and opened the door. His tone of voice changed completely. As if someone might be listening. Terse, and commanding. "I'm not going to say it again 007. You need to leave. Now."

Bond played along, sounding angry and frustrated and perhaps he was both. "I'm going, I'm going."

\- 2245 the same night -

If Bond returned some hours later to watch the surreal spectacle of his quartermaster –on a stage, still in the knit cap, but now wearing a light blue t-shirt that simply read ‘TEH'– DJing a rave… well, he could be hardly be blamed for his curiosity.

\- 0815 the following morning -

"Good morning Q, to what do we owe the pleasure?" asked Moneypenny with visible surprise. Q did not generally venture out of his 'territory' without official summons.

"Good morning Eve, I'm afraid I need to see Mallory rather urgently." said Q.

She gave him a look. "Would it help matters if I tell you that he's on his way in with your favorite pastry?" They both knew she wasn't referring to Mallory.

"Unfortunately, it does not." he said.

She nodded and pressed a button. "Q to see you M." She paused, "go on in," and the door unbolted.

"Q. Good morning." Mallory gestured toward a chair. "What can I do for you?"

"Good morning M. We need a secure conversation." Mallory raised an eyebrow at this but pressed the button on his desk to activate enhanced security measures in the office. After several seconds he said, "Go ahead."

"I'm afraid I don't know for certain whether the issue I'm going to raise is a concern you should be aware of regarding one of the agents, or if it is simply an awkward personal matter."

Mallory now raised both eyebrows but said nothing.

"Bond followed me after work last night. He claimed he wanted a dinner date, but the timing concerns me."

"Do you think he suspects you of something?"

"Exactly how would I know?" asked Q. "He's a 00. It is his job to be a suspicious bastard and a convincing liar. During his last mission briefing he mentioned that the quality of the intel he's sent out with has dropped noticeably and we both know he’s not wrong. He must suspect something. But I have no idea if he thinks I'm the cause, someone he might pry more information from, or it's just a coincidence and he was really just looking for a convenient post-mission shag."

Mallory nodded, deep in thought. "He made concerns about thorough intel known to me after another recent mission."

"From my perspective, it probably doesn't matter, except that you be aware of a possible change in circumstances. I would, of course, need to know if it changes anything from our previous briefing."

"Not at this time. Thank you for informing me Q. Do you... require a security detail?"

"Not at this time." Q shook his head, "Moneypenny says he's feeling apologetic. Or claims to be anyway. I'll file the proper report if he follows me again or tries to bribe me with something worth more than a doughnut."

Mallory gave him a tight smile in return. "Do that."

\- 0900 the same morning -

A subdued looking James Bond entered Q branch with a paper bag in his hand.

Q looked up from his monitor. "007." he said coldly.

"Q." Bond held out the bag. "Would you accept a peace offering? I need to apologize for following you last night. It was unprofessional, and it won't happen again."

If Q hadn't known Bond was acting, he'd have thought him genuinely contrite. He respected that. "What's this?" he asked, suspecting he knew the answer already thanks to Moneypenny’s forewarning.

Bond kept his tone quietly apologetic, but his expression, visible only to Q, was mischievous. "It's breakfast, several hours later… and,” he said in a lower voice, “you did share your chips.”

Q quirked an eyebrow minutely, acknowledging the reference to last night's conversation. "I suppose I should at least see what you're bribing me with," he said with feigned reluctance and reached for the bag.

"Not a bribe Q. An apology. Moneypenny said you like _pain au chocolat_."

"I do. Thank her for me, will you? Ah, good man, it's still warm.” He pretended to think for a moment. “Apology accepted."

"Will you still flirt with me on comms?"

"Don't push your luck 007," said Q in the same even tone Bond had heard in his ear so many times.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said with a smile and turned to leave.

Q turned back to his workstation as Bond left Q-branch.

\- Eight days later -

“Skulking around in dim warehouses chasing bloody amateurs with suitcases literally handcuffed to their wrists like a fucking spy movie,” muttered Bond. “Remind me why I’m here again Q?”

“Queen and country 007.” Q replied easily.

“Queen and bloody country.” muttered Bond. “They’re doing arms deals surrounded by crates and pallets of specialty groceries Q. There’s half a ton of herring below me.”

“Yes, Bond. They think it provides good cover for their little enterprise. Local law enforcement has been contacted about suspicious activity at your location and are en route. ETA 4 minutes 30 seconds. Not you for once; the guards were unprofessionally noisy rousting a homeless person. No one has entered or left by the entrance you used. I remind you I do not have eyes on the other exits or inside the building.”

“Copy. Let me know when the locals are 90 seconds out.”

“Acknowledged.”

Over the comm, Q could hear Bond’s breathing, slow and steady. Bond’s watch indicated a heart rate slightly elevated above his average moderate activity rate. The GPS in his mobile phone showed that he was staying close to the outer walls of the building. From previous clues, Q knew Bond was on an elevated catwalk along one side of the warehouse that led to the building’s offices.

“There’s a closed loading dock on the north wall. Doesn’t look like I can easily get out that way. And the door to the east is physically blocked by several pallets. Which would mean taking the package out the way I came in.” he reported.

“Right into the arms of the local constabulary,” responded Q.

“Exactly.”

“So… you’ll have to destroy the package there.”

“I see one problem with that Q.”

“Oh?”

“Would you say that the average pallet of commodity groceries weighs between 800 and 1000 kilos?”

“That seems about right, yes,” said Q, after a moment’s hesitation. “Why?”

“Because as best I can tell, based on where the case is right now, there are between four and six metric tons of baking flour within that two-meter blast radius you mentioned,” Bond said dryly.

There was a pause. And then Q said, low and intense, “Oh… _Oh_ … Bond.”

Bond sighed. “I’d really hoped Q, that if you ever made that noise in my ear, I’d be closer than 1,100 miles away. What exactly did I say?”

“You’re a dreadful tease Bond,” replied Q wistfully. “Fuel-air explosions are my _favorite_ and I have no eyes in there.”

“ _I’m_ a tease…” muttered Bond. “You can access the camera on my mobile remotely right?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll put it somewhere strategic and you can watch the show,” Bond offered. “At least for a couple seconds until the phone is melted or vaporized.”

“You’d do that for me?” asked Q, a hint of flirtation in his voice. “I had no idea you could be so thoughtful.”

“And, now I’m turned on,” griped Bond. “If explosions are the way to your heart, I’ll take it. But don’t thank me yet. I may still end up grabbing the case to blow it up elsewhere.”

“I suppose it _might_ be best if you don’t level the building,” Q lamented, “but please don’t hesitate on my account. Accessing your camera now.”

Bond smiled and winked into the camera and laid it on its side against part of the railing.

“Can you angle it down a bit more? Then I could see your target and watch your back properly… No… that’s too far down now…”

“Sorry,” said Bond, picking up the phone again to show Q the metal safety mesh that made up the catwalk flooring. “The notches are too far apart to give a better angle.”

“Pity. Law enforcement on site in 90 seconds.”

“Copy…” Bond replaced the camera. “Bugger.”

“Bond?”

“I’ve been spotted.”

Q heard multiple voices yelling in a language other than English, but not clear enough to translate. Then gunshots from a weapon other than Bond’s and a crash like metal or scaffolding collapsing. Now three, no four shots from Bond’s Walther and some of the yelling stopped, followed by gunshots from multiple weapons, all small arms.

Through the mobile’s camera, he saw Bond on top of the grocery pallets. Bond threw a bag of flour at something or someone below him. Then a second bag. Multiple small clouds of white powder appeared in the air as the weapons dealers’ shots missed Bond and hit the pallets of flour instead.

“Mmm,” said Q appreciatively, “you set that up. Looks promising.”

“I would never tease you,” Bond said earnestly as he fired his fifth shot and disappeared from the camera view amid more hostile gunfire. Five seconds after visual was lost, Bond fired his sixth shot. Twelve seconds after visual was lost, Bond fired his seventh shot.

The wristwatch data feed showed active vital sign readings until detonation, 150 milliseconds after Bond’s seventh shot.

Comm signal was lost.

The camera, recording video at 120 frames per second, briefly showed a growing fireball before being blown backward. Shortly thereafter, all signals from the device, including both camera and GPS were lost.

“Bond? Bond! 007 report!”

Q’s only remaining visual was a security camera on the exterior of a nearby building. It showed an explosion, but then the lens was covered by dust or debris and image quality degraded too far for any further use.

“Moneypenny? Please put me through to M. We have an agent presumed down…. M? Yes sir. I’m afraid so. Bond’s watch was still broadcasting vital signs when it detonated. It appears that the timer may have gone off prematurely. I will need to do some testing to determine whether there was a flaw in the device or an error in the field.”

Q monitored local law enforcement and fire responses. No one was seen to leave the building after emergency response arrived on the scene, and it would take several hours to get the fire under control.

Within 48 hours, MI6 was able to determine that Bond’s service weapon was found next to one of the bodies recovered from the wreckage with its wrist blown off. However, positive identification of the deceased is hampered by a form sent in error to the morgue. All cadavers were cremated before DNA testing could be performed.

\- 37 minutes post detonation -

 **[Unlisted]:** HMS Temeraire.

**Red-5:** Does HMS Temeraire refer to the ship or the painting or the book series?

 **Torchwood:** Ship AND painting. Thanks.

 **Red-5:** Gonna explain that?

 **Torchwood:** Later. Busy. See you soon.

**7:** Reports of my death…

 **6:** Yeah. Yeah. Been there, done that.

\- 3 days later -

 **Torchwood:** Danger Will Robinson.

 **Red-5:** Damn. Talk to me Goose.

 **Torchwood:** I need to move up the timetable by 24 hours, can you do that?

 **Red-5:** Roger. I’ll let S know.  
What happened?

 **Torchwood:** I worried the wrong co-worker.  
SOMEDAY it will be a hilarious story.

 **Red-5:** Man, I hate it when people care and shit.

 **Torchwood:** [eyeroll emoji]  
I’ll need a couple additional things.

 **Red-5:** No problem. Send me a list. S will have them for you.

\- 36 hours later -

 **6:** Sit down James.

 **7:** Done. Why?

 **6:** Q is dead.

 **7:** What?

 **6:** Seems he felt responsible for your death.  
Word is he took the remainder of the watches he’d been testing... Seven of them.  
Then locked himself in one of the munitions test bunkers and set them all to detonate.

 **7:** …  
Bloody hell.

 **6:** Sorry James.

**[Unknown number]:** RMS Lusitania passenger John McCrory arriving Boston Thurs 1400 local.

**Author's Note:**

> John McCrory's is the pub where the Leverage crew hangs out. It will figure more prominently in a future part of this series.
> 
> Q's hoodie is from the band Sisters of Mercy. His t-shirt is a reference to the web-comic Questionable Content.


End file.
